Mike Alexander

The Game

Elderly starlets on threadbare barstools,
with pallor’d, pencil’d-in, come-hither stares,
simpering, making both metals & jewels
jangle, dangling from scrawny ears;

around the green felt, lipless phantasms,
lips without color, toothless jaws,
& fingers seized by feverish spasms,
rummaging empty pockets, empty bras;

under dingy ceilings, gaslamps in rows
casting their glower, crowding each outlet
above illustrious poets’ shadowy brows,
having just squandered their bloody sweat;

behold the black tableau I watch unwind
before my eyes, a clairvoyant seeing:
in one corner of this taciturn lair, I find
myself, hunched, cold, & mutely envying,

envying these people their tenacious passion,
these aged whores their mournful levity,
all recklessly trafficking in some fashion,
one her beauty, another his age-old gravity,

& my heart sickened with envy of the poor
wretches who dash for the welcoming abyss,
who, drunk with blood, ultimately prefer
misery to death & Hell to emptiness!

[ Translation of Le Jeu by Charles Baudelaire ]

Far, Far Away

Here in this holy study,
where a stylish young lady,
both tranquil & ever ready,

as with one hand fanning -- oh my --
her breasts, her elbows in pillows lie,
he listens to the fountains cry,

this is Dorothy's chamber --
water & wind far away confide
their song of sobbing's clamour
to cradle this spoilt child's temper

From up to down, carefully plied,
on delicate skin is rubbed a glamour
of fragrant oil & insecticide.
A few flowers faint off to one side.

[ Translation of Bien loin d’ici by Charles Baudelaire ]